


Chapter 3: A Leap of Faith

by deltanox



Series: My Dear Mastermind [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Different Mastermind (Dangan Ronpa), Arguing, Background Chabashira Tenko, Background K1-B0 (Dangan Ronpa), Background Momota Kaito, Background Saihara Shuichi, Background Shirogane Tsumugi, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Analysis, Dismemberment, Dual Mastermind, F/M, Gen, Hallucinations, Historical References, Introspection, Killing Game Executions (Dangan Ronpa), Loss of Trust, My Dear Mastermind, New Dangan Ronpa V3 Spoilers, References to Frankenstein, Reflection, Science Experiments, Seduction to the Dark Side, Self-Reflection, Wax Play, ish, somewhat in the scope of this AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltanox/pseuds/deltanox
Summary: As things heat up with the current students left, the bonds of trust forged between them are tested, and it's only a matter of time before someone does something drastic... again.
Relationships: Iruma Miu & Yumeno Himiko, Kamisama | Atua & Yonaga Angie, Shinguji Korekiyo/Tojo Kirumi, Yonaga Angie & Yumeno Himiko
Series: My Dear Mastermind [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801225
Kudos: 9





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> A warning that there is a graphic depiction of violence that appears in this, so if you're bothered by that, I'd recommend not progressing much further.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The listings of current oneshots for this chapter of MDM I have in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, this is a work in progress, and fics can be added at any time point. I've always been a bit spontaneous like that.

**My Dear Mastermind, Chapter 3: A Leap of Faith**

* * *

**_1) Sanctus Espiritus_ **

[Complete]

Teaser:

“Angie… Angie can no longer quietly stand by and ignore this. For too long has Angie waited for Him to justify bloodshed and cruelty in His name, but Angie… believed that eternal salvation would justify His means. Please, Angie begs of Him, if He is watching down with His divine insight… forgive Angie for what she will become, and give her the strength to face the doubt that has lay within her soul. Forgive An- _ me _ for  _ my _ sins!”

Angie reflects on the string of senselessly violent murders that has plagued her classmates, the most recent of which burns much, much more deeply than she’d like to admit.

Prior to trial. 

**_2) Blind Faith_ **

[Complete]

Teaser:

“ _That_ _was_ _uncalled for,_ ” she hisses finally, “but more importantly, that was _not_ what we agreed on.” Reluctantly, she treads closer to the topic of interest. 

He looks pleased at her concession. “No, it was not,” Korekiyo agrees amiably, “but do believe me when I say it was necessary.

In which Kirumi comes to terms with her repressed emotions, has a dynamic quarrel with her co-conspirator, and resolves how she truly feels about the most recent execution. 

Post trial, directly after the events of _Sanctus Espiritus._


	2. Sanctus Espiritus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Angie… Angie can no longer quietly stand by and ignore this. For too long has Angie waited for Him to justify bloodshed and cruelty in His name, but Angie… believed that eternal salvation would justify His means. Please, Angie begs of Him, if He is watching down with His divine insight… forgive Angie for what she will become, and give her the strength to face the doubt that has lay within her soul. Forgive An-me for my sins!”
> 
> Angie reflects on the string of senselessly violent murders that has plagued her classmates, the most recent of which burns much, much more deeply than she’d like to admit.

Cold wood planks kiss tan knees as she kneels in her lab in prayer, before seating herself. Brush poised over what she knows is a blank canvas in front of her, Angie begins her nightly tradition, eyes closed, trusting Him to speak through her, for she is His vessel. She dips her brush into the paint, taking a moment to savor the peace the night brought, and begins to create His divine vision. 

He is alight with fiery urgency tonight, for she feels her arms jerking back and forth wildly across the canvas, dipping into various colors haphazardly, only to go back over the exact same spot with another brush. Angie’s arm raises up, the brush in it soaked with paint, swings back like a catapult, and is brought down upon her piece violently, sending medium spraying all over her arm as it splashes on. He repeats the action a few more times in different spots, and she complies with a serene smile on her face, completely in her element as life is slowly breathed into the painting. 

Her hands close around a wooden handle. This one feels wider than the other ones, _so it must be a big brush_ , she thinks, and He takes care to coat its bristles thoroughly. The medium he chooses feels thicker this time. Instinctively, Angie knows that this is oil paint, but does not pay Him any mind. Perhaps he wishes to make a statement with bold, thick lines. Harsh diagonals streak across the piece, and she begins to wonder if her muse has something different in store for her, given the most recent string of events. Her eyes twitch slightly, wanting to open and confirm her suspicions, but she resists, willing them shut— one must wait for Him to finish speaking, lest part of a divine prophecy be interrupted. The last time she had made such an egregious error, she had paid for it dearly, but that was years ago on the island, when she was too young to know better. 

Angie’s mind flicks back towards the last trial, and a sudden pang of loneliness shoots through her. After the execution, she’d holed up in her lab for days, painting for hours and hours on end in the hopes of squeezing every last drop of advice out of His words. And He had delivered, for she had received a wealth of information that she had found very useful. The first time they had spoken, Angie painted for nearly two days nonstop, only pausing after her classmates had begged her to come out and eat. She hadn’t noticed anything, but to any other, it was horribly clear that by the end of the week, the Ultimate Artist was languishing. 

It had started with small things, unnoticeable quirks that no one would miss, like the slight wane in the bounce of each step she took or how her bright smile faltered for a split second after hearing the magician’s name. But they had worsened, for soon her vivacious swaying, endless chatter about Him had dulled to furtive glances as she huddled in the corner alone, muttering under her breath, only joining the main population when called upon, and this was when the others had began to notice. She ignored their worries— _Atua thanks you for your kind wishes and concern, but He is A-OK!_ — choosing to further entrench herself in her craft, as in the end, He was the only constant in her world, and she adored Him. 

“ _F_ _uck,_ Angie, open up!” Kaito had banged on her door loudly two days ago, while a few other voices in the small crowd behind him murmured in assent. 

“Angie, _you_ aren’t okay, your god might have said that he was fine, but we’re worried about _you!_ ”

“Oh please let us in, you’re plainly concerning us, Angie, you haven’t come out in hours!” Even _Tsumugi of all people_ had spoken up, desperation audible in her voice as she punctuated her words between gentle knocks. 

Yet, the artist does not react, because she could not hear (or perhaps it was that she didn’t want to hear) them, as Angie had locked the door from the inside, and was lost in her own world with His wisdom. She’d needed Him more than ever, after the only real friend she had in this game was ripped away from her. Knowing the risks, she’d still taken a chance after venturing away from His side, and paid for it cruelly in a twist of fate; immediately after she’d seen the body, He admonished her for straying from the light— _you can rely on no one but me_ , the voice had cautioned— and Angie had flung her body down on the ground, begging for His forgiveness. 

He was a merciful god though, and even though no one saw it, after the body announcement had played, she felt invisible arms cradling her, comforting her, whispering tantalizing promises of eternal salvation in her ear if she behaved. 

**“ _Y_ _ou could be great, you could be beautiful, you could be worthy…_ ”**

She’d eagerly returned his affection, grasping at the empty air where she knew her god stood in the vain hopes that she could touch Him, feel Him, see Him (she knew it was for naught, but one could pray.) Faith resolved and burning brighter than ever, the artist smoothed out her frock, checking her reflection, making sure that a sunny smile was pasted on her face again, before leaving to rejoin her classmates. _Angie was fine._

She continues to paint, dragging the brush over the canvas. He reaches out for one of the cans in the back, and her arm obeys, plunging it into the liquid. Colored liquid splashes over her arms, and for a moment, she recoils, noticing how its consistency matches the one of _blood. Blood that had been spattered over the murder scene, blood that had stained an innocent body, blood blood blood, everywhere—_ Angie jerks forward, bracing her hand on the canvas and retching. Paint covers her hand as she lifts them (blood was on her hands, now) but the artist takes a deep breath. Everything happened for a reason, and if He willed this, then so be it. His pragmatic approach towards the murders had served her well, for He shielded her psyche, protecting it from the trauma that had broken the spirits of many after their first trial. After all, inspiration made itself known in most unusual ways, and He was not opposed to it. 

But the trial had still been a slap in the face. A freak _accident._ Miu had collapsed in a miserable heap upon being unmasked— “It was a fuckin’ accident! I didn’t fuckin’ mean to! You gotta believe me, she approached me, said she just wanted to talk about some shit, but she started advancing on me, and I-I…!" _I_ _n, out, in, out,_ the inventor hyperventilates, then buries her face in her hands. 

Miu whispers quietly. “I pushed her.”

There’s a low wail before the Ultimate Aikido Master’s face goes white. “N-no… Tenko doesn’t want to believe this… a girl would never… Himiko...” Angie feels the color drain from her cheeks and blood run cold for a split second before she takes a deep breath, and He regains control. _Angie is fine._

“Why did you do it, Iruma?” Miu blinks dumbly at Saihara’s question, then icy blue eyes widen in rage. 

“Huh? Whaddaya mean, why? I _said_ , it was a fuckin’ accident! What part of that did ya not get, dipshit? So I was paranoid as hell after that stint those bears pulled with Kiibo, and I started carrying around stuff that I made for self-defense. But it wasn’t anythin’ lethal, I swear! Just enough to fuck you up a little bit, right? So then one day, she asks me ‘Can we talk in my lab today?’ and I’m on edge, but I agree, because ‘course someone would want to talk to the gorgeous girl genius—” Miu shrinks back after receiving a dirty look, and continues. 

“I turn around and see that she’s holding somethin’ suspicious behind her back, and I…'' her voice trails off, “... yeah. That’s what happened. A fuckin’ accident.” The tension in her shoulders release as they sag lamely.

No, wait, surely there had to be something else to this, a sinister ulterior motive, something that would make this senselessly violent murder more _human,_ more palatable to process _._ But it was not to be, for no later than a second after they had received confirmation the class voted correctly, Miu was dragged off, kicking and screaming towards her inevitable fate. 

If _this_ was what His divine will was, then why did Angie start to feel that He had failed her? Doubt prickled at her skin, but she’d remained deathly silent, watching the gruesome execution, unable to look away as neon lights flashed “Miu Iruma, Ultimate Inventor’s Execution: _It’s Alive!_ ”

* * *

A hot pink sheet of fabric fluttered down from the sky, landing on Miu’s face before being tied around her eyes by a machine’s arm, effectively blindfolding her. Another piece, much larger, floats down seconds later, covering her body. Four metallic clacks of cuffs echo through the chamber as Miu is chained to a large metalworking bench, which groans as it begins tilting downward, until parallel to the ground. There was silence, before a low hum penetrated the room, and a monstrously large saw emerged from the depths of the floor, reminiscent of the one in her victim’s room. In spite of her obstructed vision, Miu immediately recognizes the sound of the saw before it had even fully come to view, and began to scream before a gag was stuffed into her mouth, silencing her. 

Slowly, steadily, and heavily, the contraption rolled towards the prone form on the bench, stopping with a mighty screech that made a few of the onlookers wince. The silence was enough to hear a pin drop, before a faint whirr sounds as the saw begins to start up. Gentle hands circle Angie’s face, caressing it, but she finds that they firmly focus her gaze straight ahead, forcing her to watch. 

**_Be strong for me, Angie._ **

They watch in horror as the spinning blade grows faster and faster until it’s a blur, and the arm lowers down onto the left leg of Miu. There’s a sickening squelch and a muffled scream of pain as it cuts into flesh, before the arm lifts again. The inventor’s body trembles and shakes, rattling the bench, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding, but her restrictions prevent her from moving from the slight spread eagle position she was placed in. From the shadows, another two arms appear— gloved white hands, one holding a bright red wax candle, and another, a lit match. The cruelty of these two items is not missed, and some of her classmates flush, knowing the implications they held. 

_Tsss…_ the candle is lit, and between the heat distortions of the flame, they can see that the inventor knows exactly what has been pulled out. Soon, the wax base of the visible wick begins to shimmer, and rivulets of wax begin falling down the side of the candle, which is now suspended over the torn fabric, exposing the deep cut from earlier.

_Plop._

“Mmmmh… !” Miu hisses at first from the hot wax landing on open flesh, but to everyone’s shock, she lets out a strangled moan. _Ohhh, so the rumors of her being a masochist were true after all…_

More wax drips onto flesh, each droplet met with the same result, while in the background, the arm of the saw dips, this time cutting into about three-fourths of Miu’s left leg. She screams again, more of it managing to escape the gag, and blood splatters the fabric covering her, but it blends in with the neon color, which only serves to make this all the more jarring. Behind her, Korekiyo mutters something about “the redcoats,” but He tunes out the anthropologist’s voice, making sure that she focuses solely on the grisly punishment. 

**_These are the consequences for those who do not heed me, Angie._ **

Yes. That's right, if they had listened to His advice, this would have never happened, she reminds herself with a placid smile.

The saw creaks as it rears up high, before it sinks down, down, down, much further past the previous cuts, and the first limb is severed with a wet _splat._

“A-ah… a-ahh… ah…!” Tenko claps her hands over her mouth, wide-eyed, and Angie can see that her face closely matches the shade of green of her pinwheel bow (pear green!) In spite of their differences, her heart aches slightly out of sympathy (or was it His sympathy?) and she notices Tsumugi touch the aikido master’s hand. More wax is dripped on the wound, eliciting more groans in spite of how she was now missing a leg. 

Her smile twitches.

She didn’t think it was possible, but the saw spins even faster at breakneck pace— _ooh, how quick!_ —picking up speed, and the full sadistic ingenuity of the mastermind comes to light as the machines alternate, a slice here, a hack there, sometimes a full cleave, while gloved hands circle the bench, their fabric growing pinker by the second as blood sprays, showering hot wax gratuitously to ensure that the inventor was never quite always in pain, nor always experiencing pleasure. In the depths of her mind, He stirs again, and her hands itch for a sketchbook or some sort of paper so that she can sate her sudden spark of inspiration. _Angie is fine,_ she insists firmly.

Before long, Miu is now missing both arms and legs, the pink fabric that covers her more red than anything else from the sheer amount of wax that seals the wounds. How she is still alive from all the blood lost, neither Angie nor He knows, but she forces rising bile down to appease her muse. The trembling has long stopped, replaced by slight jerks and twitches that signify that the Ultimate Inventor is still alive, but just barely— how much longer would this needless torment go on for?

Her question is answered by the saw, but Angie isn’t sure if she wants to see the response, and for the first time in weeks, she defies Him, apologizing but deliberately looking away from the carnage. A sickening _KRRRK_ emanates from the table, and Ryoma swears under his breath.

_“Fuck.”_

The awful _KRRRK_ sound repeats itself, before there’s a squish and a loud crunching sound, followed by the hiss of wax that sizzles on flesh, then the whir of the saw powering down. It's over. It's over now. Just like He said it would be. _Angie is... fine?_

 ** _Look,_** He commands, but she shakes her head, disobeying him a second time. The hands grow irritated, grabbing at her face, and Angie shudders, slapping at them, eventually jerking her head away violently as His orders grow louder.

_**This is what happens to sinners. Now look, and understand why you shall never stray from my light again, my child. Repent.** _

_No. I don't want to._

**_You dare defy me?_ **

A sharp intake of breath from Kirumi interrupts the struggle, confirming her sneaking suspicions, but she still refuses to look, blocking out His voice momentarily. And just when they think it’s done, the saw starts back up again as if taunting the class—such liars~— swinging down one last time, and there’s an even more awful grinding noise as the spinning blade hacks once— a scream— twice— a gurgle— thrice—silence— then finally, on the fourth attempt, cuts through the intended target… and Miu’s last cry of drawn out agony.

Monokuma, who has been oddly silent this entire time, giggles with a “Puhuhu…” but remains seated, making no move to return them to the trial grounds. Besides the melodic dripping of blood and wax on the ground, everything is quiet. 

_Clap clap!_

_“Your attention, please!”_ A monitor crackles to life, revealing Monokuma dressed in a white coat and a stethoscope _(oh my, how did he get there sooo fast?)_

 _“Today is a very special day, as it is a direct culmination of Dr. Monokuma’s efforts on his most recent project!”_ A tacky sparkle effect floods the screen, and the bear scratches his head, blushing bashfully. _“Aw shucks, you bastards are just TOO kind to me!”_

The narrator clears their throat. _“So what do you have to demonstrate to us, Doctor?”_

 _“Well you see, today, I will attempt,”_ his grating voice squeaks, _“to create life!”_ Angie suddenly realizes what the bear intends to do, and looking around, a few of her classmates come to the same conclusion as well, nauseated. 

_This was a mockery of creation. An insult to Him._

_“Without further ado, I present to you… Miu Iruma! But first...”_ A new arm appears with a blowtorch, and there is a _fwoosh_ as flames shoot out of its nozzle, melting the wax and welding together broken limbs crudely. After thirty seconds, the blowtorch flicks off, still smoking, and disappears into the shadows.

_ZAP!_

Monokuma smashes his plush fist onto a button, sending currents of blue electricity crackling as they rush towards the body underneath the pink, sizzling in the air. It jerks up violently, twitching and Angie can barely make out the backlit silhouette of the inventor move, before falling back down on the bench. “Again!”

_ZAP!_

Miu shudders again wildly, and her arm shoots up for a second, leg trembling. Korekiyo leans forward, faint interest glimmering in his eyes (she is reminded of the fun discussion they had on whether you could revive the dead earlier.) 

“One last time!”

The shock lasts for a few seconds longer, and some smoke drifts upwards, sending the sickening smell of burnt flesh to their noses. The body flails for as long as there is electricity coursing through it, then lands with a heavy clunk on the bench. 

_“Now for the grand reveal you’ve all been waiting for! Has Dr. Monokuma managed to create life after all this time?”_ Another hum of a different pitch comes from the bench, causing it to tilt, stopping to let the body remain upright. Four hisses come from the metal cuffs, and they release their restraints. She watches with bated breath as the pink cover starts to slide down from gravity, revealing pink hair and battered goggles, then pale skin spotted with welts from the electricity. The rest of Miu comes into appearance, and to Angie’s immense surprise, she looks largely the same as she had before, save for the large, ugly blackened scars and remnants of scarlet wax that circle around her limbs, torso, and neck. They wait with bated breath, listening to the dying hums of electricity powering down. 

A loud squeak comes from the base of the bench, which suddenly starts to wobble, before in slow motion, it tips over with a protesting groan, and so does the inventor, whose body hits the ground with a thump. Upon impact, the scars split open violently, sending wax and blood splashing to the floor, and the intact body of Miu Iruma crumbled before their eyes into the pile of dismembered limbs it had always been on the table after the final cut. 

Everyone’s eyes are trained on Kiibo, who’s eyes look so round they might pop out of his head, but he stays mute, before a loud _BZZT,_ and he short-circuits, eyes rolling back into his head. 

_Angie is NOT fine._

**_Open your eyes, Angie._ **

* * *

She snaps open her eyes, gazing upon what He has painted this evening, and promptly drops her paintbrush, heart thrumming. Angie’s hazy vision swims as she can only see the bright letters of MURDERMURDERMURDER scrawled on the canvas, and everywhere she looks, the words follow her. Blue eyes blink, and they vanish momentarily, before the words reappear again. The artist looks down around her, and pink blood starts to ooze from the walls, seeping out from cracks in the floorboard, and she realizes that her hands have a few faint smudges on them as well. Angie understands now what He meant to tell her tonight.

 _Guilty~!_ She sings softly to soothe herself, but her pious heart too is guilty of doing nothing to prevent such needless violence against both the victims of the mastermind’s cruelty. He has long forgiven Miu for what she has done, and she supposes she should as well, because He has a vision, and _everything surely happens for a reason._

But, she realizes, Angie is not Him, and He is not her. And _Angie_ does not want to forgive and forget. 

“Angie… Angie can no longer quietly stand by and ignore this. For too long has Angie waited for Him to justify senseless bloodshed and cruelty in His name, but Angie… believed that eternal salvation would justify His means. Please, Angie begs of Him, if He is still the merciful god Angie once loved, watching down with His divine insight… forgive Angie for what she will become, and give her the strength to face the doubt that has lay within her soul. Forgive An- _me_ for _my_ sins!” 

She falls to her knees, the rest of the brushes clattering to the floor. In spite of herself, Angie can’t help the tears that begin rolling, then flooding down her cheeks, soaking the fabric of her clothes, and in the bleakness of the evening, a sunflower wilts in the bouquet, turning away from the sun for the first time. 

_Please forgive me for what I am about to do for you,_ **_Himiko_** _._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and story inspired from songs The Truth Beneath The Roses and Our Solemn Hour by Within Temptation.
> 
> The first of the oneshots I've planned that show how other characters think and feel in MDM, along with revealing some of the plot I have. Again, a gentle warning that I would consider MDM somewhat leaning on the darker side, so that this level of violence may crop up again. I enjoyed taking this time to think about the psyche and relationship Angie had with her god, while spinning it into this universe. 
> 
> Tidbits:  
> \- The “redcoats” references how the British wore red uniforms to mask bloodstains so as to not lower morale during battle  
> \- Sanctus = holy, Espiritus = spirit  
> \- Miu’s execution references Frankenstein and wax play as per her splash art


	3. Blind Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was uncalled for,” she hisses finally, “but more importantly, that was not what we agreed on.” Reluctantly, she treads closer to the topic of interest. 
> 
> He looks pleased at her concession. “No, it was not,” Korekiyo agrees amiably, “but do believe me when I say it was necessary.
> 
> In which Kirumi comes to terms with her repressed emotions, has a dynamic quarrel with her co-conspirator, and resolves how she truly feels about the most recent execution.

Touches prickled across smooth skin, but for once they were not of fingers, but rather, the creeping sense of numbing apprehension. Quite literally, the weight of one’s sins on their back. She’d learned to tune out the groans of each soul she sentenced in the name of mercy, wipe the invisible bloody handprints on the walls as they were dragged down to their graves, even cleanse metallic stains that littered the floor she knew didn’t exist, permeating her nose with their stench. However, despite her best efforts, the touches persisted each night, differing by the classmates that visited her.

Amami’s were curiously gentle, questioning why he was chosen first and lamenting his luck, while Akamatsu favored a mercurial approach, ranging from deceptively gentle as if to lull her into a sense of security to suddenly forceful. Nimble fingers pounded on her back as if the maid was a piano, silently screaming out her rage upon being tricked.

Two nights ago, a new set of touches had greeted her. Faint and slow, Yumeno announced her presence with the slick of blood that soaked her fabric as small hands pressed into her back, dragging down in steady smears that pleaded for someone to save her from a simple misunderstanding. 

Tonight, Kirumi steels herself, knowing that there will be hell to pay with her newest companion. True to her word, sharp claws soon dig into her back not a minute later, lacerating and flaying the skin gleefully as they storm into her room, vengeance clearly on their mind. Expecting a string of mute explecatives to follow the scratches, she lies down on the bed, allowing Iruma to sate her anger. It was the least she could do to accommodate the late inventor’s desires, given that this time, she’d had a much larger role to play in her grisly death.

And what kind of maid would she be if she ignored a well-justified request?

After ten minutes, the nails relent, pain ebbing away, and Iruma disappears, satisfied having left her with a parting gift in the form of a back full of invisible criss-crosses. Gloved hands press into the wooden table as she hunches over, staring into her reflection. Glum green stares back mutely, while dark pigment circles her lower lash line. Her complexion is pale as always, but she notes that it is thinner and duller than it has been recently; her hair has seen better days, yet she is glad that it has at least kept its volume.

For a moment, Kirumi brushes the layers of stress aside, and the young girl inside peeks out. Yet, the exhaustion soon catches up, aging her. Once again, the Ultimate Maid is reminded just how desperate they all are for a dependable, maternal figure to maintain order. They are all still children, after all. 

Eyeing the reflection distastefully, she turns away. She hates being called a mother. 

In two steps, she crosses the distance to her sanctuary. Sinking into the mattress, she allows herself to lay on the bed for longer, not bothering to change into sleepwear as she has another arrangement scheduled before the night ends. Through lidded eyes, she gazes at the ceiling. Her classmates are long asleep, and there are no other tasks to complete. Upon recalling that tomorrow will bring a wealth of new duties, her muscles ache, and she feels the tension settle over her shoulders once more, in spite of the relief the trial’s end had brought. 

It had gone perfectly without a hitch. Everything the Ultimate Maid completed always did.

From the motives— well, lack of— setting the atmosphere, to sprinkling of hints they’d given earlier, then an infusion of paranoia into the pot. She’d followed the rest of her instructions perfectly: mixing uncertainty thoroughly, a swirl of faux confusion counterclockwise, then the most important part, standing by and letting paranoia simmer until the solution reached optimal temperature. A recipe for a most delicious tragedy served fresh... completely organic, and they hadn’t needed to lay a finger on anyone nor interfere, for the murderer had turned on their victim without prompting.

 _Perfectly clean,_ she remarks to herself, silently thanking the circumstances. 

Unsullied innocence had cried out that night, mourning the unfair loss of another life. It couldn’t be helped, as such was the nature of paranoia-fuelled rashness. All in all, a pity it had to end that way. 

Kirumi hadn’t bargained for the execution, though— that was news to her, and she’d swallowed as each shock was delivered with a stony face. The second phase had been a surprise, to say the least. _What a cruel captor,_ the maid thought, _giving them synthetic hope that Iruma would survive, even after she’d long succumbed to her wounds._ She’d known with absolute certainty that Iruma was dead the moment the saw pierced her torso, and decapitation was just the cherry on top— his flair for the dramatic surfacing, to her immense exasperation.

Surely, one would prefer to simply give up and succumb to fate a few minutes in, but the inventor had fought for life every step of the way until the bitter end, prolonging her agony for much longer than it should have gone on for. _That,_ Kirumi supposed, was quite admirable in her own right, for she would have done the same were she in Iruma’s position.

Soft chimes alert her to the time, and unlike the usual swiftness that accompanies her movement, she sighs lethargically, rolling over. Ideally, she would rather not attend tonight’s rendezvous to take the rest of the evening to recover, but it would be terrible form for her to reschedule something she arranged.

 _Furthermore,_ she concedes, it _was best that they nip this issue in the bud, before future complications surfaced._ A stocking-clad leg swings over the bed, followed by its accompanying limb, and the maid sits up stiffly, taking care to smooth any wrinkles that may have formed in her skirt.

Her back protests plaintively. Even though attendance was compulsory, this did not mean that she could not arrive at the destination in a leisurely manner. And she fully intended to take as much time as she could, for Kirumi had a feeling tonight would be… interesting; whether it was for good or worse, she didn’t know. 

Off to Death’s door now, she supposes.

* * *

As always, she arrives at her arrangement early, exactly ten minutes before. 

“Good evening, Miss Tojo. Do come in.” He emerges from the shadows, bowing courteously and gesturing for her to enter first— she can’t help but note how Death has opened his own doors for her. She curtsies in response and steps in. 

“Good evening to you as well. Thank you for agreeing to meet me tonight.” The anthropologist catches up to where she stands in a few strides, just barely crossing the threshold of the room she was slowly becoming more and more acquainted with.

He tips his head. “You look rather tense. Did you have a visitor?” She nods. 

“I did.” He motions to the nearby sofa. 

“May I?” Her back protests again, and she is too tired to decline the offer, in spite of the well-conditioned reply on the tip of her tongue. He is already ushering her to the cushions, having seen her exhausted countenance. 

Slender but strong hands begin kneading at knotted tissue, loosening the tension from the ever persistent weight on her back. Upon starting, she feels Amami, Akamatsu, Yumeno, and Iruma (albeit reluctantly) leave her, opting to now attach themselves to him, having been satisfied tormenting her with their presence. Fingertips slip deeply into little grooves, circling hardened muscle until they give way to relaxation. 

“Iruma…” she trails off, hoping he’ll catch onto the unspoken question. 

“Iruma.” He ignores the question, opting to continue massaging her shoulders in response. She exhales, allowing some of her pent-up frustration to slip out, knowing that this is his way of getting her to directly address the topic. Silence falls between the two, and she takes a moment to savor the stress melting away before squaring her shoulders. Very well, if he wishes to be this uncooperative, there no longer exists a need for formalities between the two of them.

“There was a lack of communication,” her voice wavers momentarily as she reestablishes control, “and I would like to understand why I was not notified of this new development.” 

“Miss Tojo, it would behoove you to understand that _I_ have projects of my own, as this is my game, after all, and I would be a _most_ horrible conductor if I did not have multiple contingency plans of my own.” 

Underneath her bangs, an eye twitches. “Spare me the diplomacy, _Shinguji._ I have full trust in our partnership, but do not patronize me. I was under the impression that communication about plans between us would be open-ended.” 

Sensing her growing irritation, he focuses his energy towards a particularly sore spot on her back, causing Kirumi to shift slightly. “Please do not mistake this as questioning you and your capabilities, as you would be terribly mistaken. Be well-aware that I only have everyone’s best interests at heart. Especially _yours."_ He punctuates his last words with a firm circle. 

“Understood, however, I would greatly appreciate clarification on your motives for future purposes so that I can complete my duties efficiently down the line. I do not appreciate the uncertainty,” she snips, still not willing to voice her concerns. 

_“Such_ spirit you are displaying tonight _._ And here I thought I had seen the last of the little firecracker that could… it is good to know that you are, in fact, alive and well.” 

Her ire rises upon hearing his quip. “Please cease your provocative deflections. I would rather we settle this directly and swiftly.”

The anthropologist lets out a low chuckle. “Oh? Is that so? My dear, that is quite hypocritical of you. I believe _you_ are the one who has unresolved queries and approached _me_ for this rendezvous to quell your worries. Not to mention how aggravated you are becoming in spite of initiating this… childish spat. Yes, I agree with you _Kirumi,_ shall we settle this like _adults?”_

Kirumi’s back goes ramrod straight, before turning around slowly to look at him. His gaze is inscrutable as always, and she feels it boring through her while waiting for a response.

 _“That was uncalled for,”_ she hisses finally, “but more importantly, that was _not_ what we agreed on.” Reluctantly, she treads closer to the topic of interest. 

He looks pleased at her concession. “No, it was not,” Korekiyo agrees amiably, “but do believe me when I say it was necessary.”

“That is not the issue. I have no questions on its necessity. However, this is a partnership. I wish to know why I was not notified of the sudden change.” 

He shrugs elegantly. “Your unawareness was a necessity for this plan.” She blinks, then narrows her eyes. 

“Do you doubt my acting skills?”

Derisive snickers follow her inquiry. “Kehehe… you could not be further from the truth. But to be, ah, _direct_ with you, no. I do not doubt your impressive array of talents.”

Exasperated, Kirumi takes a deep breath. “Then why—“ Her companion interrupts her, holding a hand out.

“You ask questions you may not wish to know the answer to, dearest Kirumi.” 

_“Then why did you alter Iruma’s execution to include a second phase?”_ In the spur of the heated moment, the real question that has been seared into her mind leaps out of her mouth.

There is no going back now.

“It was unnecessary,” she grinds out carefully, “and I was surprised with the excessive amount of force used. You made your point incredibly clear with the saws.”

Korekiyo nonchalantly holds her fierce gaze for a moment, before he inspects his bandages. “All of these secondary questions for _this_ trivial matter to be your true cause for concern? Miss Tojo, surely you were aware you could have voiced this to me from the beginning.”

“I recall quite correctly that I did.”

“You did no such thing. You were simply relying on me to address this instead of taking the initiative yourself. As I have stated, you are more than welcome to bow out for the remainder of the game, and I will personally guarantee your safety for its duration.” Yellow eyes flick dismissively to the side as he turns away from her.

“Do _not_ trivialize my concerns. I am a maid of her word, and I will follow through with this request until completion. There will be no compromise. As an anthropologist, I expected you to find my so-called reactions fascinating— at least humor me with the pretense of paying attention.”

His eyes flash. “You are treading in dangerous territory, little spider. It would be a grave mistake to deem that as a lack of attention, for that would be a great insult to my studies. And you could not _possibly_ mean to do that, yes?”

“Or perhaps,” Korekiyo spins around now, still perched on the back of the sofa, “you mean to insinuate that I do not pay _you_ enough attention? Could this be what you meant to inquire about?” He laughs chillingly. 

“Dear, sweet Miss Tojo, who is to say that you are not always on my mind? You are quite the accomplished young woman, Kirumi, and it should be of no surprise that you have caught my attention. I would be a fool to deny this opportunity to properly acquaint myself. You will find that I have _quite_ a few plans for you, all of which I can assure you are _most definitely_ in your favor.” 

She flushes. “I meant no such offense towards neither your studies nor your concern for me…” 

The anthropologist closes in, running an icy finger down her cheek until it rests under her chin. “Oh but you did, and you’ve wounded me terribly. How callous of you.” He tilts her face upwards so that they are inches apart.

“... I wonder, how can you possibly _apologize_ to me, hmm?” 

“I owe you _nothing._ ” Her deadly whisper is curt, and what little warmth had remained in her face drains away. White hot rage sears, so hot it spreads ice through veins, and the maid seethes at his audacity. Korekiyo appraises her response, leaning back to reestablish the invisible boundaries that he’d disturbed earlier. 

“I suppose you do not. This is a _partnership,_ after all, and we have agreed to share equal responsibility for our tasks, so it would be rather impolite of me to request something of you that I would not expect from myself.” The intensity that lines his musing disappears, replaced by casual indifference. 

“That being said, I did it... because I could.” 

“Because you could,” she echoes. 

“Yes. I had the opportunity to do so, so why would I not? I wished to see the reactions of everyone, yourself included. I feared we were allowing the others to grow complacent with the momentary peace, and decided they needed a small reminder of what exactly is at stake. That being their untapped potential, of course...” 

Kirumi eyes him suspiciously. “Pray tell, do elaborate on how I fit into the equation. Why was it integral to your plans for me in particular out of everyone to be suddenly left in the dark?” 

“You must understand that I would never dream of leaving _you_ behind in the dark, as this is but a temporary setback,” he teases, “but while we are on the topic of being direct, I meant to gauge your emotional reaction. You have remarkable self control for many situations, including those that you have little to no preparation for, so I was naturally curious if this quality of yours would change, taken to the extreme. Consider it an understanding of your _limits,_ if you will, for this is merely the tip of the iceberg.”

Preparation of some sort for the future, she notes, feeling the building fire in her quell. The frankness from him is strangely refreshing. 

“And your verdict?” She ventures carefully. The zipper on his mask widens inhumanly, an unsettling aura falling on the already tense atmosphere. 

“Why, you were _exceptional_ , of course _._ I expected nothing less from the Ultimate Maid. You have caught me in a very, very good mood, dear, so I think I will take this moment to be utterly candid, and let you in on a little secret of mine that I have been... keeping from you.”

Korekiyo slowly stands up from the sofa, circling it until he reaches the other side, towering over her seated form. “The true reason for my actions that you have sought answers for…” The mastermind takes a moment to cup her face gently, brushing over her hidden eye, before lacing bandaged hands together behind his back. Ah, such beauty she has. How he would have loved to see it at full potential, marred with horror.

 _“I intended to break you, mind, body, and soul.”_

* * *

She is greeted with a quick close up of his face— she recognizes for a split second the look of sheer joy— before Korekiyo springs back up from his candid admission as if nothing happened. The usual smooth rasp begins to rise in pitch while he continues, trembling excitedly.

“It was going to be my masterpiece. You, Miss Tojo, do not seem to be aware of how much of an asset you are to every side in this game. Your consistency and devotion towards your duties is astounding. There are no lengths you will not cross to ensure their completion, and I sought to use that as leverage for my plans. So like any good scholar, I did my research. You were quite difficult to get information on, but you will find that I am a very persistent person. Did you think I would not find out about your family’s background? Miss those photos in those journal clippings? The dirty work you had to do while they reaped the benefits you sowed? Or… understand the betrayal you felt at each press conference, each interview with your masters?” 

A green eye widens upon hearing _that,_ and the maid inches backwards onto the sofa, feeling the soft cushion make contact with her back as she realizes she has reached the maximum distance between the two of them possible.

Those were memories Kirumi had not recalled in a very, very long time. 

“You— how—that—” 

“Yes,” he remarks airily, drawing closer, “I knew about _that_ too. And what a shame it was, for them to be so irritatingly blind to your devotion… surely any wise master would know better than to neglect their hard-working maid. It embittered you deeply, did it not? It may also come as a surprise to learn that this required minimal prying. What kind of anthropologist would I be if I was not able to do such a simple task such as this? Besides… your reaction also gave me all the confirmation I needed for my suspicions.” 

As it dawns on her, Kirumi kicks herself, berating emotions for clouding sensible judgement and causing her guard to fall. “A partial bluff...” she mumbles weakly, while he grins viciously at her behind the mask. 

“You failed to call me out, darling. Now now, do not fret, allow me to see those lovely emotions of yours, do not restrain them. You have a beautiful face, Kirumi, and I wish to engrave your every expression into my memory...” 

Through each ragged breath she draws to calm herself, she is suddenly made aware of exactly how dangerous the gleeful anthropologist before her is, and why he is the conductor of this mad, mad, symphony they are all a part of.

“But it simply would not do for me to have a mindlessly broken doll to play with— there is no fun to be found in that, and I am not here to _play_ with you like some sort of _childish_ toy to discard. Each and every human has a vital role to play on this earth that should be cherished, and to throw away a life would be in _very_ poor taste. No, little spider, I wanted you to have autonomy in your every action, for you to walk into _my_ web of _your_ own volition, entrenching yourself in further and further every step you took, until you had nowhere to go but forward. Only then would you understand the magnitude of your actions,” his voice drops to a whisper, “ _and realize that you, and you alone, were single-handedly responsible for the deaths of every one of your classmates._ How ironic it would have been. The Ultimate Maid, who swore to protect and serve everyone to the best of her ability, even if it cost her own life, the sole cause of such destruction! Surely she did not expect the price for mercy to be her own soul!”

Her voice wobbles, still trying to process the situation. “But you are the mastermind. All actions inevitably trace back to you. Would that not make you indirectly responsible?” 

The anthropologist straightens. “I am merely the catalyst for change, but I am not the action itself. At best, I provide the chance for an opportunity to occur, but ultimately, it is people such as you and your peers that take said opportunity and set them into motion according to your own individual plans. Allow us to take Yumeno and Iruma. We did _nothing._ No motive, nothing to incite such needless violence. Yet, they still resorted to their base nature! They tore each other apart, Tojo, and _we did not lift a single finger._ Motive or not, the outcome would have been the same: Iruma inevitably _murdering_ the first person who crossed her paranoia, fuelled from K1-B0’s temporary disappearance.” 

Amidst the waves of shock that thrash her conscience, Kirumi’s eyebrows knit together in contemplation as she digests what has been given to her. Something wasn’t adding up. He had stated that he _intended_ to break her.

That had to imply… 

She struggles to keep her voice level, but manages to choke out, “Shinguji, you mentioned that you initially planned to… break me. That implies that there was a change. Therefore, it is only fair that I ask what prompted this digression, as you do not strike me as the type to suddenly switch tracks after such meticulous planning.” 

“Au contraire, Miss Tojo. I am quite content to watch my plans go up in flames, as they can be recreated, but moments like this,” he gestures at their surroundings, “can never be replicated, so I must take every opportunity to witness them. But I admit that you are correct, there was a reason for my change in plans. Humor me and tell me, what could have possibly halted this elaborate idea I had for you?” 

More often than not, his usual intangible questions tend to not have an answer, nor are they straightforward, to encourage unique thought that might shed light on an individual’s character. However, this particular inquiry requires her to think solely like him, a most difficult feat due to passive inconsistency. Any logic-based person would stick to a well-crafted plan unless in extenuating circumstances that alter favorability, but someone emotional might be mercurial, changing things as they wished depending on their feelings.

Clearly, the events that have led up to now are of neither result. Korekiyo has never been one for letting neither logic nor emotions dictate his behavior, preferring to defer to the opinions of the majority and silently witness any discourse that follows. 

Why would he… a daring idea makes its way to the front of her brain. This could either be exactly on the dot, or horribly wrong, but she doesn’t have anything to lose. 

Softly, she murmurs, “... You are referring to a change in myself?”

An adoring look is thrown her way. “Clever girl…” he breathes, and the manic light never leaves his gaze. The anthropologist clasps his hands together. 

“Very, very insightful. Your character is shining through tonight, Miss Tojo. You were to be Icarus, flying towards your inevitable fate, only to watch the world burn from your own hands on the way down. Yes, you yourself are the cause for this; it is only natural that any plan centered around a person would fluctuate slightly as I learned more about them. But, I have discovered in you, and _only_ you, something of _particular_ interest for me to develop… and I believe you know what I am speaking of. You have been aware of its _insidious_ growth throughout this game’s entirety, yes?”

She knows he’s daring her, goading her to admit what she has long repressed to the world, but the maid shakes her head firmly, breaking the momentary stalemate. Now is not the time for such statements, not when she hasn’t had the time to process the bandage he’d ripped off. 

“What do you hope to accomplish with this?” Icy silence permeates the air, and she wonders if he is dragging out the moment on purpose.

Finally, Korekiyo crosses his arms. “You have reached a fork in the road, so I will ask you once again. What will you do with this newfound information? Will you run away from the one who plotted against you from the beginning? Reveal your conspiracy against the others, take the fall for your actions, but ultimately save them all, maintaining the… _status quo?_ Or perhaps stay on the side of _change_ , aware of the long road ahead and its challenges? Safety lies at both ends, but each route will yield _very, very_ different consequences. Rest assured I hold no ill will towards you regardless of your decision, but you must choose now. _So what will it be, Kirumi?_ ”

As he mulls over her options, the anthropologist extends each hand out to her, palm up.

* * *

Kirumi stares at his offered hands, choices weighing heavily on her mind. Cold logic screams at her to finally take his offer and back out safely from what is certainly the point of no return, yet tempered duty implores her to stay, as terrible as the request may be. His monologue had implied that there were only binary choices, but maybe, just maybe… 

_… Faith was a fickle thing,_ Kirumi muses absentmindedly.

Like Yonaga, an excess results in blind faith, aimlessly dedicating one’s life for an abstract concept whose authority they never question. She shakes her head, lamenting the artist’s ignorance that would inevitably lead to her downfall. On the other hand, too little faith yields constant paranoia, impeding progress that might have otherwise been useful with the help of a trusted connection. Harukawa and Ouma come to mind, but recent chatter about the former and Momota may ultimately prove otherwise. 

As for her own faith… she sighs to herself.

 _That_ had long faded, long before the game, and there was nothing she could do about it. Without suitable power or support, drastic change was nigh impossible. 

Mulling over everything again, the maid finally makes the decision after an agonizing five minutes. She gives him a deliberate look, then leans forward. Ignoring both offers, Kirumi gets up from the sofa without either hand’s assistance. Nodding in understanding, the mastermind turns away. 

“I see. I bid you good evening then, Miss Tojo. May you have a well-deserved… rest after tonight. Your services and efficiency were much appreciated. I will see you on the other side.” His lean figure begins walking towards the exit.

With her own choice, she has started her own path, and now she needs to forge it. Her heart thrums, adrenaline firing.

“Shinguji, one moment.” 

He turns, fingers still closed around the doorknob, and blindly hope she does, for she falls backwards, hair fanning out. Yellow eyes widen, watching lashes flutter shut tightly as she puts her entire faith into his hands once again, just as she had during their dance with death at the first trial’s aftermath, trusting he will catch her.

His reaction is razor fast, and the seemingly poised mastermind makes a rather undignified scramble to sprint across the room, cushioning her fall with his arms clumsily with a muffled _thump._ The two of them stare at each other, one with confusion, and one with triumphant anticipation. 

“ _What_ is the meaning of this?” His hat is askew, and the curve of her lips fails to hide their true intentions.

Smugness lines her voice. “A trust fall.” She is close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, and the soft exhales as he catches his breath.

“I presumed as much,” he deadpans politely, giving her a quizzical look, “but surely you do not mean to say…”

“I do. One cannot _possibly_ hope to break what has always been broken.” She enjoys the range of conflicting emotions that morph across his face before it settles on one of shock, then fading into amusement. The inklings of a devious smile on her face, the maid decides she rather likes the former expression on him. 

“That expression of yours… it suits you. I would not be opposed if you made it more.” He taps her cheek, and she pulls herself back upright. 

“Miss Tojo, enlighten me. Whenever did you become such a _scheming_ minx?” 

Kirumi allows herself a small laugh, knowing Korekiyo is aware this is the closest she will get to admitting _it_ out loud. But it is good enough for him. In some senses, he too is victorious, having proved the existence of her mysterious quality of interest, but both are well-aware of who has won the war.

Using her best stern matronly voice reserved for Ouma, she raises a gloved finger at him. “I fully expect prior notification the next time you pull such a stunt.” 

He smirks, sinking into a deep bow, then advances on her. “Certainly, that can be arranged. Now then. Would you care to remind me where we were?” 

“But of course. Please, do have a seat.” She curtsies, gesturing to the sofa. “I believe right about _here_ will do nicely, for starters…” 

“Gladly. I will be your host tonight, so please, allow me.” 

Her mouth straightens in response. “Undoing your earlier efforts, I see. I have you to thank for that.” 

“You cannot blame me for the aches your own heated behavior causes, Tojo. No matter, this was an excellent rehearsal for the next phase.” She sniffs disdainfully, turning her nose up in the air.

“If I may remind you that you deliberately sought to provoke me?”

* * *

Now side by side on the cushions, the two of them idly pass time, exchanging roles, removing each other’s stress with well-placed presses of the hand. Kirumi relaxes into his touch as he circles at her shoulders, and lets out a hum to show her appreciation. In response, Korekiyo presses a kiss to her hand before it is her turn to reciprocate the massage. 

“Better?”

“Much.”


End file.
